


Klaine Advent 2016

by lilinas



Series: Expectation Fails [20]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dom Kurt, M/M, Sub Blaine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilinas/pseuds/lilinas
Summary: Daily drabbles in the Expectation Fails 'verse based on the Klaine Advent prompts. Kinky, fluffy, funny - anything goes!





	1. Audience

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again! I'm doing the Klaine Advent in the Expectation Fails 'verse once again this year. One drabble a day and the chapter title will be the prompt for the day. These will come in no particular chronological order and fall anywhere at all in the Expectation Fails timeline. A pain in the ass for the folks trying to put the stories in this 'verse in some kind of order but I can't help it. This is how I have to do it!
> 
> Enjoy, everyone, and happy holidays!

“No, please. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Kurt froze in the open doorway, Macy’s bags in one hand, keys in the other.

“I know I deserve it, but please. Please don’t.”

It was Blaine’s voice, coming from the bedroom. Kurt’s heart lurched into his throat and he scanned Blaine’s living room for signs of a visitor. But nothing seemed amiss.

“I’ll try harder. It won’t happen again, I promise. Oh God, please.”

Blaine was alone, Kurt realized. No one else was speaking. What could it . . . ?

It hit Kurt then, what he should have realized right away. Blaine was masturbating. Fantasizing and masturbating. He’d forgotten that Kurt had a key to the apartment or he’d expected Kurt’s shopping trip to take longer and now Kurt was going to have to punish him and he was so not ready for that, no matter how well things had been going for them the past few weeks. And oh God, was this not the first time? Was this a pattern? Had Blaine been pulling the wool over his eyes, pretending to be obedient but satisfying himself once Kurt’s back was turned?

Kurt shook his head hard. No. He knew Blaine better than that now. Whatever was happening in the bedroom, it couldn’t be willful disobedience. Not Blaine. With a deep breath Kurt forced himself to loosen the death grip he had on his keys. He reached for the door handle, shoved away the temptation to just make a run for it, and closed the door as silently as he could. He bent and set his shopping bags on the floor.

“No, of course not,” Blaine pleaded from the bedroom. “I would never, you know that.”

Blaine’s voice was so full of submissive contrition that it made Kurt’s dick perk up and take notice. Kurt ignored it and crept silently across the room toward the hallway.

“I know I deserve it.” The words dripped fear and excitement in equal parts. “It’s just . . . it’s too much. Just one more chance, please.”

The begging did absolutely nothing to alleviate the situation in Kurt’s pants. He pressed a palm to his burgeoning erection. Stupid teenage body.

When he’d inched far enough up the hall to see into the bedroom he stopped in his tracks.

Blaine wasn’t naked, as Kurt had feared, reclining on the bed with his dick in his hand. He was fully dressed, kneeling on the floor with a pillow under his knees, following Kurt’s rule. He was sideways to the door so Kurt could see his profile, his closed eyes, his parted pink lips, the fierce erection tenting his pants. His arms were crossed behind his back, hands holding elbows in the formal position they’d only decided on a few weeks ago.

Blaine’s head bowed forward and he breathed a sigh that was heavy and resigned. “You’re right. I disobeyed. I deserve it. Please . . . please punish me.”

Kurt’s knees wobbled and he clutched at the door frame to steady himself. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. Blaine was lost in his fantasy and while he was certainly stimulating himself in at least one sense, he wasn’t actually breaking any rules. Kurt remembered something Blaine had said to him in the beginning, that submissives were still people in their own rights, with their own thoughts and feelings and inner lives. Wasn’t Blaine allowed this, as long as he didn’t defy any of Kurt’s commands while he did it?

Blaine gasped and his body shuddered like he’d been struck. Maybe he had, somewhere in his head. “Thank you, thank you Kurt,” he cried and Kurt was glad Blaine couldn’t see him because it felt like his eyes were going to pop right out of his head.

Another gasping cry and, “Oh God, thank you! Kurt!”

Kurt let go of the door and silently, slowly, backed away, all the way down the hall, retracing his steps to the front door. He put a hand on it, just for support, then he jangled the keys he still held, pulled the door open and slammed it closed. He even prodded his shopping bags with his foot, rustling them, for good measure.

There was silence from the bedroom.

“Blaine?” he called out. “I’m home.”

“Thank God,” came the answer. Blaine’s voice was still full of breathy arousal; he didn’t even try to hide it. “In here. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Kurt grinned as he crossed the room for the third time. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.”


	2. Bed

Blaine collapsed, falling onto Kurt like he couldn’t possibly hold himself up any longer. Kurt blew out a long sigh and somehow found the energy to lift an arm and wrap it around Blaine’s waist.

“That was . . .” Blaine began.

“. . . intense,” Kurt finished for him.

“Insane,” Blaine offered.

“Exhausting,” Kurt finished. He turned his head far enough to nuzzle his nose into Blaine’s neck. “You were amazing though. I never knew you could do any of that.”

“I couldn’t have, without you,” Blaine protested. “You were so patient. It was like I was seeing a whole new side of you.”

“Me too. With you.”

Kurt’s lips tickled the tender skin under Blaine’s chin and he shivered at the sensation in spite of his boneless exhaustion. “Oh God,” he moaned. “I don’t think I can . . . not after . . .” but he tilted his head anyhow, to give Kurt better access.

“Oh come on,” Kurt coaxed. “Don’t you think you deserve a reward for all your efforts? I think you do.”

“I don’t know how you have the energy to even think about trying to . . .”

Kurt shimmied to the side and rolled them until he was on top – no easy feat on the narrow couch. He kissed Blaine with exaggerated gentleness, like he might break apart under his lips. “I’ll do all the work, how about that? And maybe I’ll even let you come.”

Blaine groaned, and Kurt must have heard what he needed to in it because he grinned and started working his way lower. Blaine’s cock pushed against the fly of his jeans like it was trying to meet Kurt halfway.

“Waaaaa!”

The wail came from two places at once – floating down the stairs from the second floor and bursting static from the monitor on the coffee table. Kurt’s head thumped onto Blaine’s chest, heavy with defeat.

“Remember, we love our niece,” Blaine said gently.

“It’s been three minutes!”

Blaine reached for the bottle he’d left next to the monitor and held it out to Kurt. “Didn’t you say something about doing all the work?” he asked hopefully.

“Fine.” Kurt snatched the bottle and rolled off the couch. “But tomorrow you’re telling Finn that we’re never babysitting again.”

“Deal.”


	3. Charm

“Blaine! It’s beautiful! I love it!”

Kurt cradled the gift box in one hand and poked at its contents with the other.

“You have no idea what it is, do you?”

Kurt looked up, apology written clear as day on his face. He lifted the silver chain from the box. Tiny charms tinkled as it unfolded. “Well, it’s too long to be a bracelet . . .”

Blaine smiled at him. Kurt’s guilt was adorable. “It’s a watch fob. For a pocket watch.”

“Yes, I know what a watch fob is. I’ve just never seen one with charms.”

“I saw one of the charms online and I wanted it for you, but you’re not really a bracelet person. Then I remembered your grandfather’s pocket watch.”

“It’s perfect.”

Blaine squirmed happily. His body had an instinctive reaction to Kurt saying that he or anything he did was perfect. “Look at the charms,” he prodded. Kurt was going to love the charms, he was sure, and he was looking forward to more happy squirming.

Kurt dangled the chain from one hand and fingered the first charm. “A spoon?”

“A wooden spoon. I mean obviously that one’s silver but . . .”

“Our spoon!” Understanding dawned on Kurt’s face and he reached eagerly for the next dangling shape. “And a cuff. For obvious reasons.”

“Obviously.”

The third charm made Kurt’s eyebrows pull together. “Shoes?”

“So you remember that time we went to the mall, like a week after we met? When I bought your cuff? You wanted to try on those shoes so I knelt and . . .”

“Put them on for me.” Kurt bit his lip and ducked his head, like the memory made him shy. “That was . . .”

“The first time I submitted out in public,” Blaine finished for him. “We never really talked about it because we had that fight about David, but I never want to forget how that felt.”

“I never could,” Kurt said.

“Keep going.”

Kurt’s fingers moved on to a miniature open hand.

“That’s –” Blaine began.

“Don’t even! I know exactly what that’s for. I still have the picture, you know. Your ass never looked prettier.” Kurt grinned, then looked confused again when his fingers found the tiny filigree birdcage. “Do we have some mystical connection to birds that I’m forgetting?”

“Well we did go to a bird-themed restaurant for our first date,” Blaine said. “That’s what you can tell people if they ask you why it’s there.”

“And the real reason?”

“It’s a cage. I didn’t think you’d want an actual cock cage dangling from your vest pocket.”

“You are wisdom personified.”

“Yes I am.”

Kurt giggled his way through the rest of the charms – a phone, to commemorate all the phone sex they’d had when they were still spending most of their weeks apart, a little pulley, the tiniest of rulers (“For the first time we role-played”) – in all twelve charms dangled from the fob, tracing a history of their time together so far. When he got to the end Kurt’s fingers found their way back to the bird cage, which didn’t surprise Blaine in the slightest.

“So do you like your anniversary present?” Blaine asked.

Kurt’s smile was soft. “You know I do. But it’s not our anniversary. If it was our anniversary I’d have a present for you.”

“It is our anniversary. It’s the five-year anniversary of the first time we had sex.”

“What? That’s not . . .” but Kurt stopped himself and sighed. It was full of the fond exasperation Blaine knew meant he was both touched and confounded by what Blaine had done. “How many anniversaries are you celebrating in that head of yours?”

“All of them,” Blaine said, suddenly serious. “I have something for almost every day.”

“You don’t.”

Blaine took the watch fob from Kurt’s hand and let it fall back into its box with a tinkle of silver. He laced Kurt’s fingers between his own. “I waited thirteen years for you. I celebrate every minute.”

Kurt shook his head but he leaned in for a kiss. “Charmer.”


	4. Dare

“Blaine! How could you?!”

Blaine craned his neck back to look at Kurt. He was on his knees on the bed, face in the pillows, ass in the air, but he wasn’t getting fucked. And from the tone in Kurt’s voice he wasn’t going to be getting fucked anytime soon.

“It was Sam’s fault!” he protested

“Sam made you get a tattoo?!”

“It’s just a tiny little rose . . .” Blaine tried.

“On your ass. Your perfect ass Blaine. It’s marred forever. How could you?” Kurt repeated. He was even more upset than Blaine had expected.

“Sam said it would be romantic. And . . . well, he dared me to do it. What choice did I have?”

“I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but if he dared you to jump off a cliff, would you? I knew we shouldn’t have agreed to let him stay here while he’s town. For a twenty-nine year old man, you are remarkably easy to influence.”

Blaine wriggled a little more, until he finally managed to get a look at Kurt’s face. Kurt’s eyes were wide and his cheeks tinged pink with outrage. “You know he’s always brought out my inner eighteen-year-old,” he said. He tried to sound contrite.

“ _I’m_ supposed to bring out your inner eighteen-year-old!”

“Come on, Kurt. You bring out a lot of amazing things in me, but we both know you were born thirty-five. It’s one reason you’re my soulmate.”

“That is not true.”

“ _If he dared you to jump off a cliff, would you?_ ” Blaine repeated Kurt’s words back to him.

“Anybody would say that in this situation. You got a tattoo! On your beautiful ass.” Kurt’s hand finally touched him, his fingers petting Blaine’s bare ass like he was telling it goodbye. “It’ll never been the same. It’ll never be . . .”

Kurt’s voice trailed off but his hands kept petting at Blaine’s ass. Slowly petting became kneading. Then poking. Poking right over the red rose. Blaine held still and waited for him to get it. When he finally spoke again Kurt’s voice ground out like it was being forced.

“Blaine. Devon. Anderson.”

“Yes?” Blaine asked meekly.

“This isn’t a real tattoo, is it?”

“It is not.”

Behind him, Kurt blew out a long breath. It shook a little with what might have been relief, or maybe suppressed laughter. Blaine hoped it was laughter.

If there was any laughter in the vicinity though, it didn’t make it to Kurt’s voice. “What exactly did Sam dare you to do?”

Blaine made his eyes wide and tried to look innocent. “He just dared me to play the best April Fool’s Day joke ever on you.”

“And you decided this was a good idea because . . .?”

“I might have maybe been thinking it’s been a really long time since you’ve had anything to punish me for,” Blaine admitted.

Kurt made the shaky blowy sound again. Then one hand smacked hard on Blaine’s ass cheek, right over the fake tattoo. “There. Consider yourself punished.”

Blaine’s hum of approval u-turned into a whine of protest. “That’s it?”

The mattress bounced as Kurt jumped off the bed. “That was your punishment for playing a completely unfunny joke on your boyfriend.” Kurt said. Blaine could hear him pull open a dresser drawer and rummage. When he came back to the bed he stopped by the pillows so that Blaine could see what he had in his hand.

The tawse. The big, black, heavy tawse that smashed like Thor’s hammer into whatever flesh it was offered. Blaine lifted his eyes from the tawse to Kurt’s face. His boyfriend was smiling.

“ _This_ is your punishment for trying to manipulate your dominant into punishing you.”

“Don’t you think that might be overkill?” Blaine asked. The tawse was brutal. Kurt usually only used it when absolutely necessary. “I have a two-hour lecture to sit through tomorrow morning.”

Kurt smirked. “At the risk of sounding like a thirty-five-year-old, don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

Blaine groaned and turned his face into the pillow. Damn that Sam, he thought as Kurt moved back behind him and stroked the edge of the tawse over his hole. He was going to make him pay, he thought as he arched his back into the teasing stimulation. He would come up with an even better dare and get Sam in trouble, he thought as the tawse slammed like a fist into the back of his thighs.

Just as soon as he could walk again.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a good dream. Kurt was pretty sure there were puppies. And firemen. And so he was less than happy when a strange sensation dragged him out of it.

Something . . . rubbing . . . and his blanket was gone . . . nuzzling . . . by his balls? He cracked his eyes open to find the bedroom bathed in weak pre-dawn light. And Blaine . . . Kurt turned his head but Blaine was gone. The pillow next to his was curl-free.

“Hmmm. So good.”

The words were garbled. And coming from Kurt’s crotch.

If he hadn’t still had half a brain back in the firepuppy dream Kurt might have jerked up, cried out, but instead he floated a little, apart, detached, as the picture came together in his head. Blaine. Between his legs. Nuzzling.

“Smell so . . . don’t stop . . .”

“Blaine? Honey?” Kurt managed to move one hand to brush soft curls. “Are you awake?”

“So long . . .” came words whose consonants were soft and missing in places. “. . . Kurt . . . never knew . . .”

The puppymen faded further away as Kurt woke up enough to realize several things in quick succession. Blaine’s nose was planted in the crease between Kurt’s thigh and his scrotum. Blaine’s temple, and that soft hair, were rubbing along the length of his cock. His cock was hard. And Blaine was most definitely not awake.

“Good Master . . .” Blaine nuzzled deeper, burrowing his nose, breathing deep, rubbing prickly stubble against Kurt’s balls.

He should stop him, Kurt knew. Blaine had no idea what he was doing. But the silky hair teasing his cock felt so good and he was getting harder and, well, Blaine seemed so _happy_ , even if he was asleep. And it was much too early to sort out this kind of moral dilemma, Kurt thought as he spread his legs wider.

“Hmmmmm,” Blaine’s hum rolled and vibrated against Kurt’s skin and Kurt lost even the tiniest inclination to fight what was happening. He threw his head back and wrapped his fingers around the spindles of the headboard and let Blaine enjoy whatever lovely dream he was lost in.

It was hotter than he expected, being at the mercy of Blaine’s random rooting. Each tiny brush of hair or skin or beard seemed magnified because it came by chance. Nothing was certain. Blaine wasn’t trying to get him off, which, it turned out, Kurt’s dick found very exciting. Soon he was humming too, quietly, as desire built closer and closer to the tipping point.

“Enough . . . my God . . .”

Blaine’s muttered words made his head move and oh, it was good, such a tease but so good. Kurt was hanging by a thread but Blaine’s tiny movements weren’t quite enough. It would be so easy to . . .

It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. At least Kurt’s moral compass forced him to acknowledge that but the wrong just seemed to make it better. He abandoned restraint and thrust, rubbing his cock hard against Blaine’s face once, twice, then he was coming with a tiny high whine, holding tight to the spindles as his balls convulsed and pleasure overwhelmed him.

It took a long time for him to come back down to earth. Kurt smiled to himself as he descended. When he finally opened his eyes he realized that Blaine’s nose wasn’t pressed to his crotch any longer. Blaine wasn’t touching him at all.

“Kurt?” Blaine’s voice came from below, sleepy, but without a doubt awake.

Kurt’s smile froze. He closed his eyes and made a vague half-asleep questioning noise.

“Did you just . . . come on my head?”

“Wha . . .?” Kurt stirred, opened his eyes, made them go wide and alarmed as he took in Blaine’s face, now turned up toward the thin light spilling around the curtain. Semen dripped from his hair and spattered his cheek. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Blaine’s eyes widened too as he realized where he was. “Oh God. Please tell me I didn’t do anything awful. I wasn’t sleep-fellating you or something, was I?”

Kurt stared at Blaine while his moral compass took another spin. He’d come from Blaine sniffing him. If Blaine knew that, Kurt would lose the moral high ground on the smelling issue forever. 

Kurt shook his head. “I have no idea, Blaine. I was asleep.”

“But you came. It had to have been you.” Blaine rolled a bit so Kurt could see the cage locked tight around his dick.

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t remember. Maybe . . . maybe I was dreaming?”

Kurt hadn’t had a wet dream for years. Not since he’d had Blaine to make him come anytime his dick so much as twitched. But there was no suspicion in Blaine’s eyes. Because Kurt was a consummate actor.

Blaine scooted up the bed until he hovered over Kurt’s face, careful not to touch the pillow with his sticky hair. “I hate it when I miss your orgasms,” he pouted. “But it must have been quite a dream.”

Kurt smiled back as he remembered Blaine’s garbled sleep talk and desperate nuzzling. He ran his finger along Blaine’s cheek, wiping up a smear of semen, and offered it to Blaine, who obediently sucked it into his mouth. “I’m pretty sure it was.”


	6. Fair

“I’m not so sure about this.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Stop being a baby. You agreed to do it. We already committed. And it’s for a good cause.”

Blaine tried to curl up into himself, which was not easy to do when he was tied tight to a post like a man awaiting execution. “I know,” he said. His eyes darted to the right, toward the admission booth set up in the doorway of the club. “But I’m suddenly feeling very exposed.”

“Please. You’re not even naked.”

Blaine decided not to point out that _not naked_ was really a matter of semantics. His only garment was a pair of the world’s tiniest leather shorts. Which were mostly obscured by the huge dildo strapped to his crotch. It jutted out and up obscenely, while his own dick hid, stuffed in its cage inside the shorts. If the throbbing was any indication, his own dick agreed with Kurt that this was a perfectly fine idea. One of many unfortunate situations his stupid dick had led him into.

Kurt turned away to the table next to him and began to arrange the prizes displayed there. Blaine sighed. It was true - he had agreed. At home, in his living room, alone with Kurt, it had seemed so innocent. Funny, even. But now he realized that this wouldn’t just be their friends, or acquaintances from the club. The charity carnival had been advertised at every scene location in the city. Total strangers were going to come through the door and see him like this. And then they would . . . he couldn’t bear to finish the thought.

His dick throbbed anticipation.

Kurt turned back from the table with a handful of brightly colored rings. “Wiggle,” he commanded.

Blaine pulled against his bonds.

“Not your whole body! Just wiggle your crotch.” His voice was loud enough to ring out in the room. Several people looked up from preparing their own booths to watch as Blaine obediently rocked the dildo out and back, side to side. He had a few inches of give in each direction.

“Perfect,” Kurt smiled. “I’m counting on you to try to catch as many as you can. People who win come back to play again.”

“Seriously, Kurt,” Blaine pleaded as heat rose in his face. “This is . . .”

“Humiliating?” Kurt asked. He grabbed the fake dick and gave it a few slow strokes. The real dick pushed against the cage like it could actually feel its master’s hand. “You like humiliating, remember?” He dropped a ring – neon pink with lime green striping – over the dildo. It bounced against Blaine’s cage as it settled at the root. “Tell you what. For every ring you manage to catch, I’ll take one day off your incarceration.” He rubbed the front of Blaine’s shorts, just in case there was any doubt what incarceration he meant. “And for every one that misses, I’ll add a day.”

Noise pulled his attention to the door, where a line of kinksters were already waiting to pay their admission fees and buy their game tickets. Blaine moaned and took a moment to sag against the pole at his back. But a moment was all he could spare. He pulled himself straight and tested his range of motion again, and again. Never let it be said that Blaine Anderson didn’t have his priorities in order. After all, it was for a very good cause.


	7. Guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed the delay between chapter six and this one. If you're not with me over on tumblr, well, I had a little crisis of inspiration. My first, and very unsettling. Trying to push myself just freaked me out and made it all no fun. So I took a break from both this and Bitchmas and waited to see what would happen. I'm still not sure what's going to happen, but this idea came to me so I'm posting this chapter. 
> 
> The thing is, if inspiration doesn't continue and if I come to the conclusion that I can't finish either of my Advents, I'm going to delete it. I could never leave a story hanging here unfinished - it would make me crazy and I would just feel angry every time I saw it on my works list. So if for some reason I have to delete I'll make a chapter post first to that effect so that anyone who wants to download the story before it goes away can. Hopefully I won't end up there though! In any case, new chapter. :)
> 
> Also, for those of you not familiar with east-coast furniture terms, a breakfront is a type of china cabinet.

“Blaine? Honey? Did you find the candy dish?”

Kurt peeked into the dining room. Blaine was on his knees, his head deep in the bottom cabinet of the breakfront.

“Not yet,” came his muffled voice. “Are you sure you put it in here?”

“As sure as I am that Rachel will give _conniption_ a new definition if she doesn’t see that we’re using it.”

Blaine heaved a sigh that turned into a sneeze at the dust cloud it stirred up. “We need to clean this thing,” he said, emerging from the cabinet and settling on the floor. “No candy dish. But I did find this very important pocket calendar that is only eight years out of date. Lucky you saved that, right?”

Kurt frowned. “How do you know you didn’t save it?”

Blaine thumbed through the little black booklet. “Your handwriting.” He held a page open and his head tilted as he stared at it. “In some kind of code. Why did you keep your appointments in code?”

“What? I was in high school. I may have been fabulous but even I didn’t have _appointments_.” Kurt skirted the table and knelt in front of Blaine. Dust had frosted some of his curls white and Kurt brushed them clean with a disapproving click of his tongue. Then he took the calendar and examined the page Blaine held open.

There were normal notes on the page. A homework assignment. A geometry test. And on some date squares, random letters in the upper right-hand corners. S, O, I, B and others sometimes alone, sometimes in groups.

When the synapses finally connected in Kurt’s brain he blushed hot and gasped before he could stop himself.

“What?” Blaine asked.

“Nothing, no, Blaine, come on . . .” Kurt tried to hide the book behind his back but Blaine was too quick. He snatched it away and scooted out of reach.

“Anything that makes you blush like that, I think I ought to know,” Blaine said with a grin.

“It’s nothing. It’s . . . really, nothing.”

“Come on, Kurt. You know I won’t give up until you tell me. I’ll drive you crazy all day and we’ll never find that candy dish and when Rachel gets here she’s going to disown you for not appreciating . . .”

“Fine!” Kurt knew from experience that Blaine was a dog with a bone when it came to things like this. “Come on.” He got up from the floor and headed for the living room without looking back. He knew Blaine would follow. Dog with a bone.

“What do the letters mean?” Blaine asked. “And why did you turn purple when you remembered?”

“I never turn purple. I may flush occasionally . . .”

“Okay, Mr. Unruffled. Why did you _flush_?”

Kurt dropped into the oversize leather wingback and pulled his feet up under him. Blaine sat on the sofa, pinning Kurt with an inescapable stare. “Spill,” he commanded.

Kurt tried for casual. “I used it to keep track of . . . sex.”

“Sex?” Blaine asked.

“Yes Blaine. You remember sex. We had it just last night.”

Blaine ignored that and flipped the pages of the calendar. “So S means we had sex? And the other letters?”

Kurt flushed – only flushed – again. “They stand for things we did.”

“B?” Blaine asked

“Bondage. I for impact. O means I let you have an orgasm.”

“You tracked when . . . why would you do that? Did you want to look back and . . .” Blaine shrugged.

“What, you think it was like notches on the bedpost or something?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I did it . . . for _you_.”

Blaine looked even more confused. Kurt had to resist the urge to turn and hide from his scrutiny. “In dom class . . . they told us that submissives like to be surprised. Mira said it was important to keep a submissive guessing about what was going to happen from scene to scene. So I kept track of what we did – to make sure I wasn’t falling into any kind of subconscious pattern. So you’d never know what was going to happen and you’d always be surprised.”

Confusion softened into comprehension, then wonder. “You did that for me?”

“I took my responsibilities seriously.”

“Why’d you stop?” Blaine asked.

“What?”

Blaine held up the book to a page toward the end. There were homework notes, but no letters. He flipped a few more and Kurt could see they were all letter-free.

“Oh. I stopped because I realized you don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You never try to guess what I’m going to do or what’s going to happen when we play. You go to this place where . . . I don’t know how you do it. It’s like it’s new for you every time, no matter what. I think I could do the exact same thing a hundred times over and you still wouldn't expect it.”

Blaine gave Kurt the smile that always zinged straight to his heart like a heat-seeking arrow. “That’s because the only thing that matters to me is the submitting. To you. I kneel and my mind goes blank. When I’m in that place it’s always new, every time.”

Kurt nodded. “And when I figured that out I stopped keeping track.”

Blaine flipped in the book, found the page he was looking for, and pressed a finger to it. Kurt didn’t have to look to know he was touching the very last sex entry. Tiny letters capturing the moment when Kurt fully understood the unique quality of his submission.

“Enough dawdling!” Kurt unfolded himself from the chair. “We have a candy dish to find. Even I’m not brave enough to face the wrath of Rachel.”

But when he looked back from the dining room Blaine was still sitting, smiling at the book. Kurt smiled too, and went to search alone.


	8. Hello

Kurt didn’t say it every time Blaine resurfaced from the place he went after their play. Sometimes he said _hey_ or _welcome back_ or even _good morning_ if Blaine had fallen asleep while he was still drifting. Kurt didn’t like to get in a rut. But it was the one Blaine liked best. He didn’t know why. Something about the sound, or the way Kurt bounced the syllables, or the way his mouth puckered like a kiss at the end.

In the beginning Kurt had often asked him about the place he went during and after an intense scene. Blaine knew Kurt wanted to understand so that he could better understand Blaine and his submission. Blaine had tried to tell him, more than once, but he found it unexpectedly difficult to pin down. How did you express something that was emotion masquerading as sensation? Movement in stillness? Everything and nothing?

 _It’s like being one of those little specks of dust floating in a sunbeam,_ he’d said once. _Weightless. Drifting where the air takes you._

Another time he’d tried, _it’s like being inside a huge cavern when the guide turns all the lights off. Infinite space expanding, infinite darkness enclosing._

He tried, but he never quite seemed to get it right. And Kurt smiled and nodded but Blaine suspected he didn’t understand. But that didn’t matter.

What was important – what Kurt did know – was that Blaine went on a journey. The odyssey that began with the things Kurt did to him didn’t end when the last blow fell or the wax all flaked away or the fucking was done. While Kurt untied the knots and wiped away the mess and covered him in warm blankets Blaine’s story continued. Inside the cavern, floating in the sunbeam, he moved and grew and changed. He traveled alone, even with Kurt’s breath warming his cheek or Kurt’s heartbeat keeping time with his own. And Kurt waited, maybe taking his own journey. Maybe guarding Blaine from the outside _was_ Kurt’s journey. Blaine had never thought to ask. He didn’t feel the need to understand the intricacies of Kurt’s dominance the way Kurt tried to understand his submission. He was content to simply let it drive him to that place and to be thankful for it when he began to feel the pull back to earth.

Blaine followed that pull until he fell softly down to his bed, to arms that cradled him, to misty blue eyes that looked at him like he was precious and rare, and to a soft, high voice behind lips that smiled then puckered like a kiss.

“Hello.”


	9. Impact

“Tell me about sub class.” Kurt lifted his head from where it rested on Blaine’s chest and smiled up at him.

“What? Where did that come from?”

They’d been talking like they always did in the quiet moments between lights-out and sleep, about vacation plans tonight, so Kurt’s question came very much out of the blue.

Kurt put his head back down and nestled into Blaine. “At the shoot today, we had a break and I overheard the photographer telling her assistant that her daughter had just been marked submissive. She said she had to get her set up with a sub class and then they looked at each other,” Kurt raised his head again. “They were both subs too and when she said it they smiled at each other like they were both remembering the same thing even though the assistant was like twenty years older. I’ve never done that with another dom. I just wondered . . . what it was. And I’ve never really asked you about sub class.”

Blaine smiled at him. “So you want to know what they were thinking about.”

“You don’t have to –”

“It’s okay,” Blaine said. He pushed Kurt gently back down onto his chest so he could stroke through his hair. He needed to think, and it was easier to take himself that far back when Kurt wasn’t staring at him with his beautiful eyes. “When you were in dom class, first day, what was the first thing Mira and Thomas said to you?”

“I thought we were talking about you.”

“Indulge me.”

Kurt’s head bounced a little with his chuckle. “Fine. _Responsibility._ First word Mira said. And she was serious. We got a long lecture about how we were going to be responsible for the well-being and the safety and the fulfillment of every submissive who decided to play with us and eventually of the most important person in the world. Our soulmate.” He laughed again. “I was already terrified before her speech, I didn’t need that! So what about you?”

“Same exact thing.”

Kurt popped up yet again. “What? They told you you were going to be responsible for the well-being and safety of the dominants?”

Blaine shook his head and pushed Kurt back where he belonged again. “They told us that down the hall was a room full of new dominants getting a lecture about how they had to be responsible for our safety, everything you just said. And we were going to get the same lecture. Not about dominants, about _us._ ”

“I don’t get it.”

“We had to take care of ourselves. We had to make sure we were safe and understand our own needs and desires. In other words, the dom class was all about us and our class was going to be all about us too. Because we were the center of it all. We held the center, even naked, denied, on our knees, and the dominants we played with moved _around_ us. They would offer or deny or demand, they might give pleasure or pain, but we were always the anchor that held and inspired them. I never forgot that. The whole room changed when she said it.”

“Why?”

“Because there we were, a bunch of kids who’d just been marked submissive. And I know it’s not supposed to be that way, but you can’t help thinking dominant is _better_ , especially when you’re too young to understand the way these things work in a real relationship. There she was saying hey, their class is all about you and your class is all about you. Because you are the heart of everything. That’s not a feeling you forget.”

“So you think that’s what Cara and her assistant were thinking about today?”

“It’s powerful to be told how important you are just when you’re feeling like you’ll never be as important as a dominant. It makes an impression. I maybe didn’t make the best choices while I waited for you but I was always safe and in control in the way they taught me. I never took my responsibility lightly.”

Kurt pressed a kiss into Blaine’s chest. “Neither did I.”

“You were responsible even before you had that dom class.”

“Well something made an impression on me, too.”

“Really? What was that?”

“You, silly. You.”

Blaine responsibly made the decision that that comment was best answered without words. Kurt responsibly agreed.


	10. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still chugging along . . .

“You have a date, my beloved, July the first at five o’clock. But you don’t say where.”

An arm slipped around Kurt’s waist as Blaine settled beside him at the rail and stared out at the endless ocean ahead of them.

“Morning,” Kurt murmured.

“I woke up and you weren’t there. I had to come looking.”

Kurt smiled. “I think I’m still on America time. But it’s okay. The sunrise is magnificent.”

Blaine hummed a little agreement. “Aren’t you going to finish the quote? You have to admit it’s apropos.”

“Please. There is so much wrong with that I don’t even know where to start.”

Blaine laughed. “Do tell.”

Kurt turned to him. “First, they were on the Atlantic, not the Mediterranean, and they were at the end of the voyage. We’re just starting. And we’ve been in love for ages, but they’d only just met.”

Blaine shook his head but his eyes twinkled with humor. “And you call yourself a romantic.”

“Plus, if either of us is Cary Grant, it’s me.”

“Excuse me? I’m most definitely Cary Grant,” Blaine said.

“How in the world do you figure that?”

Blaine held up fingers to tick off the ways. “Because I’m older, because I have his devastating dark good looks and I used to do my hair just like his. You know it’s true, you’ve seen the pictures. And obviously because Cary Grant was a submissive.” He brandished his cuffed right wrist as evidence.

“Who frequently played dominants,” Kurt pointed out. “Plus you completely lack his biting wit and sarcasm. Which is _obviously_ one of my defining features. Not to mention his urbane demeanor and devastating fashion sense. Also I deeply suspect you only want to be Cary Grant so you can hear me say _You name the place and I’ll obey_ , which I have no intention of ever saying.”

Blaine was trying hard not to laugh but Kurt could feel him shaking with the effort. “Oh my God. You realize we’re two gay men on the deck of a cruise ship arguing over who _doesn’t_ have to play Deborah Kerr? Do you suppose security’s going to show up and tell us we have to go find girlfriends now?”

Kurt spun around and trapped Blaine up against the rail, caging him between his arms. “Is that what this is about? You think I’m going to let you fall to your knees for some _girl_?” he said in his best Cary Grant almost-accent.

Blaine ducked his head in an attempt at submissive contrition, although the twitching of his lips completely ruined the effect. Still, Kurt appreciated the effort. So did his dick.

“No, sir. I would never, sir.”

The words trembled – with laughter as opposed to arousal, Kurt was sure, but he could fix that. He leaned close, and there was nothing funny in his attitude, he made sure. Between his arms Blaine went still. “So you say. But I think you need to be punished just for making that suggestion. In fact, I think you need to be punished for all the mistakes you’ve made this morning.”

This time when Blaine’s voice shook it was for the right reason.

“You name the place and I’ll obey.”


	11. Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this still lives! I do have high hopes of finishing this baby, very, very late, of course! But keep the faith! :) And thank you all for hanging in there.

Kurt took a deep breath of the late spring air and circled slowly around the post Blaine was lashed to. His boy was barefoot, stripped to the waist, and trembling gently, though the afternoon was warm. His torn shirt hung from his waistband in tatters, strips lifting in the breeze. Tearing the shirt off his back had been important to Blaine – something about the movie scene that had inspired this fantasy long ago – and Kurt had to admit that the act had helped him fall into his role as well. Still, this was big.

Blaine faced the post, his hands bound around it high above his head. Kurt came up behind him and reached out to palm at Blaine’s crotch.

“Are you nervous?” Blaine asked in a low, heavy voice.

“Why would you think that?”

“You’re checking to see if I’m turned on. You only ever do that when you’re not sure you are.” Blaine turned his head as far as he was able but it wasn’t far enough so Kurt moved around into his line of sight.

“I am turned on,” Kurt said. “I want this too. You know that. It’s just a big responsibility. I want to get it right.”

“Kurt, you’ve been practicing for weeks. Jack wouldn’t have given you the okay if he didn’t think you were ready. And we both know there's no way I'd be tied to this pole half naked if you didn’t think that too.”

He had to strain but Blaine managed to stretch closer, until he could press his lips to Kurt’s in a gentle kiss. “I’m so excited for this,” he breathed as they parted. “I know you are too. Do it.”

He was so sure. Kurt brought up his other hand – the one holding the whip – and used the handle to push Blaine’s chin up. “Do you think you’re in charge here?” he asked, pulling his character around him to ward off his nerves. Blaine was right. He was ready.

Blaine swallowed hard and shook his head. “No Sir.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Blaine’s face. “Five lashes, I think. For a first offense.”

“Please. Please Sir.” To his credit Blaine tried hard to sound like he was begging for mercy. He completely failed.

Kurt ran his fingers down Blaine’s bare back. “So pretty. Get ready boy.”

He stepped back, not far. The whip was only four feet long – Jack had recommended that for the best combination of control and a nice, frightening crack. He found his spot without having to look for the mark Jack had made. Blaine was right. He’d spent weeks on this spot, bringing the whip down on the vaguely Blaine-shaped dummy he’d practiced with. He knew exactly what to do.

He swung the whip once to the side, the crack reverberating loud in the silence, and Blaine flinched against the post with a whimper. Before Blaine could recover Kurt swung again, straight ahead this time, and the sharp crack was followed by a cry from Blaine that was new, so new, yet familiar in its mix of pain and pleasure and deep, instinctive release.

Watch the backswing, reestablish control, aim, throw, four more times the whip cracked loud in the empty yard. Four more times the braided tip kissed Blaine’s back as delicate and devastating as the touch of lips, and four more times Blaine cried out, louder and louder. To anyone else the shouts would have spoken only of pain but Kurt was fluent in nonverbal Blaine. He heard every nuance of emotion in each sharp vocalization and saw it echoed in the sagging, stretching, flinching and gasping as Blaine struggled to hold himself upright against the pole.

After the fifth lash Kurt dropped the whip and ran to Blaine, pressing him into the pole, holding him up, careful not to touch his bare back where five welts were reddening in uneven lines. Blaine let himself sag into Kurt’s hold, pulling air into his lungs in ragged gasps. He didn’t seem to care about his back at all; he leaned back and rested his head on Kurt’s shoulder, pushing for as much contact as he could get while still bound to the post.

Kurt reached for the quick release he’d worked into Blaine’s bonds, then lowered him carefully, like the precious treasure that he was, down to the soft blanket he’d spread out behind Blaine before the whipping had begun. Blaine entrusted himself to Kurt’s arms, as he always did, sure that Kurt would see him safely to the ground.

“That was amazing,” Blaine found the energy to whisper.

“Shut up and float,” Kurt said as he pulled another blanket around Blaine’s bare torso and held him tight. He wanted to let Blaine have his afterglow, but he couldn’t resist pressing the lightest of kisses to one narrow, blooming welt. It may have been his imagination but he was sure he could feel it swell against his lips. As if Blaine’s body was kissing him back.

“So good,” Kurt breathed against Blaine’s skin.

“So good,” Blaine murmured back. “Want to do it again.”

Of course he did. Kurt smiled, and when Blaine's head lolled back to look up at him, answered him with a kiss.


	12. Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh this is 12 of 24 - I'm halfway there! This one goes way back to the beginning, when Kurt was a senior in high school and he and Blaine were still dealing with living apart. :)

The giggle came from the back of the room, the left corner where a group of girls were huddled with heads together.

 _It’s not about me,_ Blaine told himself as he turned away from the whiteboard and capped his marker.

And he was right. Of course. Seeing his attention fall on them, one of the girls shoved her phone in her backpack and all three turned to face forward and give their attention to his English lesson.

It’s not like they could tell. His cage was very low-profile. Kurt had made sure of that. And these were sixth-graders. None of them had been marked yet. Sex probably wasn’t even on their radar. They were all much more concerned with the latest trending Snapchat video, or whatever kids were looking at this week. The only person in this room who was hyper-aware of the fact that Mr. Anderson was wearing a cock cage was . . . Mr. Anderson.

Still every first day at every new school Blaine had this same talk with himself. No one was looking. No one was laughing. And most definitely no one knew how the fear of discovery made his dick fight with everything it had to break the bars of its prison.

Another laugh, from a different corner, and when Blaine frowned in its direction the two boys poring over something in a notebook looked contrite and closed the cover.

Blaine assigned the day’s reading and settled behind the teacher’s desk to go over the notes she'd left.

Kurt had been right to cage him during the time they were apart. Most of the time the cage did exactly what Kurt had intended. It stood in for Kurt himself. It both reminded Blaine of his position and reassured him that Kurt was always there, even when he wasn’t _there._ Each time his dick swelled, the cage was Kurt’s hand and he could almost hear Kurt’s voice in his head, telling him _no_. Blaine was pretty sure that after _I love you,_ _no_ was his favorite thing to hear Kurt say. The cage kept Kurt present through every long day, every lonely night, and yes, every class full of middle-schoolers who definitely positively had no idea their teacher even had a dick, much less one caged under a golden lock engraved with his master’s name.

Another giggle. Another anxious throb. Stifling it, Blaine rose and continued his lesson.

*     *     *

The sight of Kurt’s car parked outside his apartment made Blaine breathe a sigh of relief – even though it was Tuesday, and he’d known Kurt would be there. Kurt was always there on Tuesday (thank you Burt), but Blaine never quite conquered the fear that something would happen. Nothing catastrophic, his brain didn’t work that way, just some normal life event that would keep Kurt away and force him to endure three more days without the one thing he needed more than food or air or a break from giggling pre-adolescents.

But Kurt was there, and waiting to pounce as soon as the lock gave way to Blaine’s key, and before he could even cross the threshold Blaine was wrapped in Kurt’s embrace. With a practiced spin Blaine nudged the door shut so the whole building wasn’t treated to the sight of Kurt’s long fingers making a beeline for his crotch to squeeze the cock trapped in his cage. This time Blaine didn’t even try to quell the throb that lifted the whole cage like it was trying to shake hands. And all he felt was content when, soft against his ear, Kurt laughed.


	13. Music

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this is happening. This is a disaster.”

Blaine was babbling, in that particular tone that Kurt knew meant he was on the verge of collapse. He scanned up and down the street but there was never a cab when you needed one.

“It’s okay, Blaine. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Not the end of the world?! How can you say that? How can you say that to me right now?”

Kurt glanced behind them. The wedding planner was still standing in the doorway of her tiny office, looking concerned, but Kurt decided it wouldn’t be prudent to revisit the scene of the crime, as it were. He smiled at the woman and slipped an arm around Blaine’s waist. Together they hobbled to a bus stop bench on the nearest corner. Blaine slid from Kurt’s grasp and landed hard on the seat, covering his face with his hands.

“How did this happen to us?” His voice was muffled by his palms.

“Blaine, it’s not that big a deal . . .”

Blaine’s hands whipped away and he glared at Kurt. “ _Not that big a deal_?  Really Kurt? And I suppose our vows aren’t a big deal either? Why even bother to write them? I’m sure if we search enough pages on theknot.com we can find some awesome ones we can plagiarize.”

“Blaine . . .”

“ _We don’t have a song_! How do we not have a song? How did we not notice that we don’t have a song?”

People passing were starting to stare. When a couple paused near the bench to wait for the bus Kurt smiled them - _Nothing to see here, folks. Just a little drama, that’s all –_ before turning his attention back to Blaine. “She just put us on the spot. We’ll figure it out.”

“The way she _looked_ at us!”

“She didn’t . . .”

“When she asked us what our song was and we just sat there like idiots . . . she was disgusted. Like she couldn’t believe we were even bothering to get married. Like she had no idea how we were even _soulmates!”_

“She was not, Blaine, you’re making things up now.”

Blaine went silent and hung his head. Kurt hated to see him so defeated, but he couldn’t say he was sorry that the word diarrhea had stopped.

“Look, Blaine . . .”

“How do we not have a song?” Blaine looked up at Kurt with eyes that pleaded for an answer. “We’re musical people. Music is my life. It’s my _job._ I just . . . how did we end up here?”

He was so sincere and distressed that Kurt gave himself a little internal lecture for even thinking about wanting to smile. “Maybe you’re looking at this wrong,” he said instead. “It’s not that we don’t have a song, maybe we have _all_ the songs. We love so many and we’ve sung so many together that maybe it would have felt wrong choose one over all of the others so we never did.”

“Gee, I wish I’d thought of that. Let’s just go back and tell Annie we’ll be dancing our first dance to all the songs. That’s totally doable.”

A bus pulling up to the stop drowned out Blaine’s last few words with screaming brakes, but Kurt got the gist. He took Blaine’s hand and waited until a few people got off and a few more got on and the bus pulled away in a cloud of exhaust before answering. “I don’t know what to tell you. I’m doing my best here. We just have to choose something. There must be a song that matters to us more than all the rest . . . what’s the first song I ever sang to you?”

“We are not dancing our first dance to Don’t Cry For Me, Argentina.”

“Okay what about the song you sang for me with the Warblers? Everyone likes Alicia Keyes.”

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice dripped disdain, “that song is about falling in and _out_ of love. Really?”

Kurt sighed. “How about we go home and put one of our phones on shuffle and just listen until something hits?”

“Oh, sure, why don’t we just toss a coin? It’s only our wedding. No big deal, right?”

“Stop!” Kurt hadn’t meant it as an order but he heard the command in his own voice as he said it. So, obviously, did Blaine. For several long moments he stared down at their joined hands, silent. When he spoke his voice was calmer than it had been, though still intense and serious.

“It’s just that, this is our wedding. After everything we’ve been through we get to stand up and declare ourselves to the whole world. Is it so wrong to want a perfect song that,” his eyes flickered up to Kurt’s, “that tells everyone there how much I love you? What a perfect place you’ve made the world for me? The way I felt like I was wasting my life until you stood up and claimed me? The way I just . . . vanished . . . that first time you kissed me? I just want everyone to know how we held onto each other no matter what came at us and how we will hold on no matter what –”

“Comes,” Kurt breathed. He stood up and tugged a surprised Blaine up with him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back in to see Annie. I know exactly what our song is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that was some shameless fluff, but I realized that I hadn't really given them a song in this 'verse - I haven't really stressed music much at all. And obviously their song has to be . . . their song. Hopefully I was transparent enough that you know what it is! ;)


	14. New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I couldn't possibly get any schmoopier with these boys . . . I find new depths. ;) Sorry! (Not really.)

Kurt watched the furniture van glide away down the driveway, following it with his eyes until it disappeared around a curve through the maple trees. When he turned back to the house Blaine was fussing with the new chairs.

“They were perfect the way I had them,” Kurt complained as he climbed the wide porch steps.

“You always think that but you’re only right half the time.”

Kurt blew out a dismissive sound, but he didn’t try to dissuade Blaine further. He leaned against one decoratively carved support beam and watched instead.

It was almost exactly two years since they’d started renovating the old farmhouse. Two years of commuting up from the city – thank God for the new bullet trains – and juggling work and contractors and each other. They could have sped things up after Blaine retired by having him move up full-time to oversee the work. They’d actually considered it, for all of twelve seconds. Even with the bullet train, there was no way either one of them wanted to be apart for days at a time. So they’d waited, and Kurt had driven his assistant crazy trying to learn the VR interface so he could work from Vermont most of the time, and now they were moving in together, sharing the unpacking and decorating and adjusting of front porch rocking chairs.

“Now they’re perfect,” Blaine said. He turned and smiled at Kurt. His smile was still as beautiful as ever; the lines on his face only accentuated it in Kurt’s opinion. So Kurt allowed himself to be disarmed. And even though they both knew the chairs were going back the way Kurt had placed them as soon as Blaine wasn’t looking, Kurt refrained from pointing it out.

“Come on and sit down,” Blaine was saying, still smiling. He held out a hand to Kurt.

Kurt didn’t take it.

A frown creased Blaine’s forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. After so long he always seemed to know when Kurt was slipping into a mood.

Kurt shook his head. “Nothing. I’m remembering.”

“We just moved in. What’s there to remember?”

“The day after we met.”

After all this time Blaine still ducked his head like a shy kitten when Kurt brought up their beginning. “Why that day, particularly?” he asked.

“I don’t think I ever told you. After school we drove to your place in separate cars . . .”

“God, remember driving?” Blaine interrupted. “What a pain that was.”

“And you got there first so when I pulled up you were waiting on the porch of your building.”

“I remember that. I was scared to death.”

Kurt smiled. “You? I was terrified. Fuck I could barely breathe. I couldn’t even imagine how I was going to get myself out of the car. So I sat there and watched you. There you were, still a total stranger but meant to be so much more and I thought . . . he’s my soulmate. And fifty years from now we’ll be sitting side by side on some other porch in authentic Shaker rockers and we’ll be each other’s everything. We’ll know each other backwards and forwards and inside out.” Kurt wrapped his arms around tight around himself. “And here we are. And I don’t know how it happened. Where did it all go?”

Blaine pulled Kurt’s arms apart so he could slip his hand into Kurt’s and smiled up at him with eyes that sparkled warm and golden. “It’s only been forty-eight years,” he said, “and those aren’t Shaker.”

“Well the Mitchell School hadn’t happened yet so that was the best I could do at the time.”

“And this isn’t the end.”

Kurt should have had a snappy comeback for that, but it came too quickly, unexpected, like a fist to his solar plexus, and stole his breath away.

Blaine knew him too well not to hear what he left unsaid. “We still have so much time.” He cupped Kurt’s cheek in his palm. “I have so much time.”

“Blaine . . .”

“I have it all planned out. I’m going to live another twenty-seven years . . .”

“Twenty-seven?”

“. . . and when I’m a hundred and two and you’re ninety and these beautiful chairs are all weathered and creaky . . .”

“As if I would let my Mitchell rockers weather!”

“. . . I’ll kneel for you one last time and then we’ll curl up in our bed and just . . . drift off together.”

Kurt stared at him for a long time, until emotion loosened its stranglehold on his throat. “That is . . . frighteningly morbid. And very sweet. And don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

Blaine’s smile flashed as bright as ever.

“Except for the kneeling part,” Kurt went on.

“You don’t think I’ll be able to kneel for you when I’m a hundred?”

“Blaine, you can barely kneel now. When you do it sounds like a tiny orchestra is playing the 1812 Overture in your knees.”

Blaine’s eyes narrowed and he dropped Kurt’s hand and stepped away to stand in the middle of the porch, too far to support himself on the railing.

“Blaine, don’t.”

It wasn’t an order, just a kind of exasperated pleading, and Blaine ignored it. He straightened his spine and began to lower himself.

“You’re being ridiculous right now. You’re seventy-five years old, for God’s sake!”

“And I can still kneel for my master.” Blaine’s voice shook with effort but his face didn’t reflect it. He smiled like an angel as he made his way down.

Kurt watched, and listened, and winced more than once, but Blaine managed his descent with surprising grace. One he was down he straightened his posture and lowered his eyes. His arms hadn’t had the flexibility for the old formal position in years, but he clasped his hands behind his back and as Kurt stared at him the gray in his hair seemed to fade and he looked for all the world like the young man who’d knelt for Kurt on their very first day, when everything was new.

“Alright, yes, you’ve made your point,” Kurt said, brusque and gruff and definitely not on the verge of tears. Not that he could ever hide anything from Blaine’s sharp eyes. “We have years. Now come sit on one of these outrageously expensive rocking chairs.”

“A hand?” Blaine asked, holding one out to Kurt.

“Oh no, Romeo. You got down there by yourself – against my strong objections – you can just get yourself up again.”

“Please?” He made it sound like begging. And Kurt could never resist Blaine begging. Especially from his knees.

“Fine,” he relented, taking Blaine’s hand and tugging. “But you’re giving me a blowjob later to make up for your disobedience.” Together they managed to get Blaine back on his feet and Kurt dragged him to the rockers.

“I’ll give you one now if you want. Right here.”

“God give me patience. We have neighbors Blaine!”

“It’s a quarter mile down to the road. And we already know my knees can take it.” Blaine waggled his still-impossible eyebrows at Kurt.

“Shut up and rock.”


	15. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL get these done. I will! I will! Possibly even before next Christmas! Warning on this one for some very gentle assault play . . .

Blaine had a lot of expectations for that Thursday afternoon. He expected to linger at Lima Middle School, wasting time on busy-work until long after most of the students and teachers had gone home. He expected to trudge across the dark, empty parking lot to his car and make his way home to his lonely, empty, Kurt-less apartment. He expected to eat leftovers from the dinner Kurt had made on Tuesday, maybe watch some TV, have a goodnight phone call with Kurt (the length of which would depend on how much homework Kurt had and how quickly he got it done), then lay in bed, cock throbbing in its cage, looking forward to waking up to blessed Friday, his favorite day of all. It was his accustomed pattern on nights Kurt had to sleep at home.

What he didn’t expect was to be body-slammed and pinned against the door of his Prius before he could even wrap his fingers around the handle.

He so didn’t expect it that for half a second he was genuinely frightened – his brain fumbled to remember something, anything, from a self-defense class he’d taken way too many years ago – but then a voice growled, “Don’t move,” hot against his ear and a hand slid around his waist and down, down between his legs to cup the metal there with familiar authority.

Like turning on a faucet, desire flooded Blaine’s body and he relaxed against the cold metal of the car. “Please . . . don’t hurt me,” he pleaded. He tried his best to sound sincere.

“I heard you like to be hurt,” the voice whispered. The hand caressed over his cage as if it was flesh and inside Blaine’s cock swelled, desperate for the touch of this particular hand. “I heard you _love_ it.” And just to prove the point, lips sealed over the back of Blaine’s neck and sucked, hard, relentless, tongue working the abused skin until Blaine was moaning and humping the hand that stroked him.

He didn’t care that they were out in the open, in a (dark, empty) school parking lot. He only cared that this never end. “I’ll do whatever you want, please . . .” he breathed.

“Yes you will.”

The lean body pressed Blaine into the car door hard while the hands let him go, only for a moment, then soft fabric pulled against his eyes and was tied tight around his head. “Oh God, please,” he begged, not even trying to sound like he was seeking mercy.

When movement came it was swift; a sound – his car door – then a dizzying spin to the side, a hand on his head pushing down, the world tilting. But he didn’t resist. He trusted the hands that guided him – rough but sure – with everything he had. Still, being manhandled blindfolded was disorienting and by the time he heard the slam of the door closing and realized he was kneeling on the floor of the back seat, his head was being pushed down onto a long, hard, not-too-thick not-too-thin dick, a dick whose flavor and scent he knew by heart. He moaned, and sucked like his life depended on it.

In his pants Blaine’s caged cock gave a spurt of approval. He offered a silent prayer of thanks to the boy fucking his mouth for, among other things, waiting until the end of the day to surprise him in ways that were guaranteed to stain his trousers.

He prayed, and moaned, and sucked.

*     *     *

“Are you alive under there?”

The blindfold lifted but Blaine’s eyes were still closed. Kurt’s orgasm exploding hot across his tongue had blasted him into another world altogether and he wasn’t sure he wanted to make his way back to the one he lived in. In the real world he knew his dick was in agony and he still had to go home to a Kurt-less apartment. But on the other hand, Kurt was in that world, unexpected and perfect, still panting post-orgasm, and that was worth even the pain of his starved body and the loneliness of his immediate future.

“What the hell just happened?” he managed to gasp.

Kurt laughed and tugged at Blaine’s arms, pulling him up onto the seat and cuddling him close. “I had a late Glee practice tonight. I was driving past and I saw your car still in the parking lot so I decided to take advantage of unexpected opportunity.”

“Lima Middle isn’t anywhere near your route home from McKinley.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t drive past on purpose.” Kurt squinted at Blaine in the dark. “Are you mad?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why would I be mad?”

“Well . . . I did sort of jump you and just use you for my own gratification.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that that is every fantasy I’ve ever had?”

Kurt grinned. “So you don’t mind that I’m going to go home all relaxed and satisfied, and you’re going to throb in that cage all night hoping I’ll let you beg me for an orgasm tomorrow?”

“Why do you even pretend to be innocent and unsure anymore? When you can say things like that?”

The grin took on a decidedly evil cast. Kurt leaned close, until his lips brushed Blaine’s ear, and one hand squeezed tight around the cage with a delicious pressure that Blaine could only imagine. “Because it makes your head spin,” Kurt whispered. “See you tomorrow.”

In one swift move he was gone, and Blaine was alone, alone with a damp stain on his favorite red slacks and a dick that ached to be hard and the gently spinning head of a boy who was well and truly mastered.


	16. Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I just don't know how to end these little one-shots. I'm not particularly pithy! But I decided you guys would rather just have this than wait even longer while I dithered. So have at! :)

Kurt knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the apartment door. Blaine was slumped on the couch, head in hands, looking as droopy and dejected as Kurt had ever seen him.

“Oh sweetie, what happened?” Kurt shut the door on the city noise and dropped his messenger bag on the table next to it.

Blaine looked up and his eyes were so full of conflicting emotions that Kurt froze there in the entry, unsure how best to proceed. He looked sad, there wasn’t any doubt about that, but he also had the wary, too-much-white-in-his-eyes gaze that Kurt had learned usually meant Blaine was aroused in some way that also frightened him.

Blaine took a long moment before he spoke. “They extended the play,” he finally said in a voice heavy as lead.

“Again?”

Blaine nodded.

“How long?”

“Another two weeks.”

Kurt was not going to laugh. He was not even going to smile. That was absolutely the wrong thing to do, he told himself sternly. No, his own feelings didn’t matter at all. Blaine was struggling. Blaine needed his boyfriend.

“Kurt I . . .” Blaine’s head drooped back into his hands, “. . . it’s been three and a half months, I’m not sure I can . . .”

No, that was wrong, Kurt realized. He didn’t need his boyfriend. He needed something else entirely.

“Take your clothes off,” Kurt interrupted.

“Wha . . .?” Blaine gaped at him.

“Stop talking. Off. Right now,” he repeated in the commanding tone he knew Blaine couldn’t resist. Blaine’s body would obey, even if his mind took a minute to catch up. Sometimes bypassing Blaine’s brain was the best approach.

Sure enough, Blaine lumbered off the couch and began to strip. He still looked befuddled, but his body relaxed into a more familiar gracefulness as the layers fell away. By the time his briefs joined the rest of his clothes on the coffee table he almost looked calm. He stood with his arms loose at his sides, his only adornment the steel bars locked around his dick.

Kurt stalked forward, until he was close enough to lift the cage and its contents in his palm. He hefted it, evaluating. Blaine’s flesh bulged through the openings as his dick struggled to get hard. Kurt raised his eyes to find Blaine looking like he didn’t quite recognize him. But he didn’t seem to mind.

“Three and a half months,” Kurt mused softly. “Can you even remember how it feels to be hard?”

“Kurt . . .”

“Excuse me?” Kurt arched an eyebrow.

Blaine understood him immediately. “Master . . .” he said in a much deeper voice, and he shivered as he said it, or maybe that was because Kurt slid his hand back to cup his swollen balls.

“Did I ask you to wear this cage when you took the part boy?” He squeezed Blaine's balls, gently, and Blaine’s eyes fluttered shut then opened again.

“No Master.”

“No I didn’t. I could have. Because this –” Kurt wrapped his hand tight around the whole steel-encased package, “– is mine, and I can do whatever I want with it.”

A quiet whine slipped from Blaine’s throat.

“But I was fine. I didn’t need to lock you up. Even though you were up there every night, kneeling, calling someone else _Sir_ . . .” Kurt stroked the trapped cock as he spoke, caressing the flesh he could reach through the bars. Blaine was trying to be still, Kurt could see, but his ass was flexing with the effort of not thrusting against Kurt’s fingers. “So why have you been in this cage for three and a half months, boy?”

Blaine swallowed hard. “Because I asked to be,” he whispered.

“And why did you ask to be?”

“Because I needed it,” Blaine confessed as he lost the battle and began to rock into Kurt’s teasing stimulation. “And I thought it would excite you. I wanted to please you. I needed to please you.”

“And why are you going to stay in this cage through this extension and the next one and the one after that?”

Blaine moaned at Kurt’s words, but there wasn’t anything dejected in his tone anymore. “Because I said I would. And you want me to. And it pleases you.”

Kurt smiled and kissed Blaine swift and hard. “Good answer, boy,” he said as they parted. “Just for that I’ll take pity on you.”

“Really?” Blaine asked, breathless, his eyes bright with hope.

“Go get the vibrator and I’ll give these balls a good milking. You’ll feel much better after that.”

Blaine groaned. His head fell forward in defeat but Kurt could tell by the way he was breathing that he was all in again.

“You don’t want me to milk you?”

Blaine grimaced. “It’s like having half an orgasm. And not the good half.”

“Part of an orgasm is better than none at all,” Kurt chirped. “And after we’re done I’ll let you give me the good half.”

Blaine groaned again, but the cage lifted and fell as his cock, that perfect barometer of his unfiltered desires, throbbed with excitement.

“Now do as you’re told and go get the vibe,” Kurt commanded.

And, still throbbing, Blaine went.


	17. Quirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so nobody get confused! In working on the Advent fics I completely missed that there was a prompt for Q - Quirk. I went directly from P to R and skipped Q! So I've deleted Rain, I'm making Quirk chapter 17 and then reposting Rain as chapter 18. I hope everyone figures it out!
> 
> I had some trouble with this prompt so we just get a little moment of fluff. ;)

When Kurt finally got home – late, of course, after fighting the rain and holiday crowds on the train – the apartment smelled of Bolognese sauce and Christmas tree. Blaine was in the kitchen, stirring, and Sean and Nathan were already there, reclining together on the sectional bathed in red and green from the twinkle lights and sipping wine from Kurt’s latest flea-market vintage glasses.

“Kurt!” Both Sean and Nathan called from the sofa, and Blaine turned from the sauce, spoon in hand, and grinned happily at his tardy soulmate. In a trice he was across the room, helping Kurt off with his overcoat.

“Oh God. Was the train terrible?” Blaine asked with a grimace.

“Frightening,” Kurt said.

Blaine smiled at him. “Well now you have two whole weeks of freedom. Come on, I’ll get you some wine.” And he stepped close and pressed his lips to Kurt’s in his usual warm welcome home kiss.

Kurt pulled away first – they had an audience after all – and Blaine leaned in with a tiny whimper, chasing Kurt’s lips as he always did, asking for more.

“Oh my God, that is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Kurt shook his head at Nathan were he sat cuddled under his dominant’s arm. Blaine had already moved to hang Kurt’s coat in the closet but he turned far enough to call over his shoulder. “What? What’s cute?”

“Does he always do that?” Nathan asked.

Sean, Nathan’s dom, smacked his boyfriend on the arm and nodded pointedly toward Kurt, who was glaring daggers.

“What?” Nathan and Blaine asked at the same time.

“Meet your dominant at the door with a kiss,” Sean said. He gave Nathan a hard pinch on the thigh. “Like a _proper_ submissive should. That’s what he meant.”

“I kiss you all the time,” Nathan protested. “I meant the –”

“Do I smell something burning?” Sean asked.

Blaine yelped and ran for the kitchen, and Kurt shot Sean a grateful smile and collapsed on the other end of the sectional.

“What is wrong with you two?” Nathan asked

“Ixnay on the isskay,” Sean hissed in his sub’s ear.

“What on the what-nay?”

“Obviously Kurt doesn’t want you to –”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Kurt hissed under his breath. “It’s a thing he does. He’s always done it, since the day we met. But he doesn’t know he’s doing it and I don’t want him to know because then he’ll get self-conscious and . . . stop doing it.”

Both Nathan and Sean stared at Kurt for a moment, then Nathan burst into giggles. “Oh my God. That’s the even cuter than the fact that he does it!”

“What are you all laughing about in here?” Blaine appeared from the kitchen, ladle in one hand, wine glass in the other.

Kurt jumped up from his chair. “Just anticipating your wonderful dinner,” he said, moving between Blaine and the couch, where Sean was whispering harshly in his submissive’s ear.

Blaine held the ladle up between them. “Taste.”

Kurt slurped at the sauce. “Perfect,” he said.

“So are you,” Blaine answered, and he kissed Kurt again, gentler this time, and spicy from the sauce. And when Kurt, aware of their audience, broke off the kiss sooner than he would have liked Blaine chased his lips again, as he always did. As he always had.

As he always would, Kurt thought.

Another giggle swelled behind them, but it was cut off abruptly, as if muffled by a hand.

As long as Sean could control his submissive.


	18. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the corrected chapter 18! I'm thinking by deleting the last one I probably deleted the comments on it (crap!) so if I didn't respond to your comment, I'm so sorry! I'll see if they can be found anywhere.

“This is a tragedy.”

Kurt looked up from his sketch and grimaced at Blaine, who sat framed by the cabin’s picture window, staring out at the gray forestscape beyond. “Macbeth is a tragedy. This is rain.”

“Tragic rain.”

“Hurricane Katrina was tragic rain, Blaine. This is a completely normal summer storm.”

Lightning flashed, like nature confirming Kurt’s words.

“Vacation rain is always tragic,” Blaine pouted. “We have two completely private acres. We should be out there right now tying me to something.”

Kurt sighed and set his drawing pad on the coffee table. “We wouldn’t be out there even if it wasn’t raining. I told you I have three sketches to finish and e-mail to Donna before we can play.”

Thunder cracked, and Blaine had to wait out its roll before he could speak. “I know that. But I was planning to scout while you were drawing.”

“Scout? You’re a mountain man now?”

“Scout for the best tree for you to tie me to. Or pick the rock I want you to fuck me over.”

“Wow,” Kurt said. “Topping from the bottom much?”

“Providing _options_ for my _master_ ,” Blaine insisted.

“Well your master has to work, which means this storm is perfectly timed, so find something to do and if we’re lucky by the time the storm blows out I’ll be done and we can go scouting together.” Kurt picked up his pad and pencil as the room lit up with another punctuating flash of lightning.

“ _If_ it stops,” Blaine muttered under the patter of raindrops pelting the glass.

Kurt ignored him in favor of experimenting with the drape of the sleeve on the fitted shawl on his pad.

“If it doesn’t rain all weekend.”

“Blaine.”

Thunder rolled again, but Blaine was louder. “Well I’m sorry but this sucks! I’ve been looking forward to this forever and it _sucks!_ ”

Kurt set his pad down again, more forcefully than before, and stared at Blaine until the last echo of thunder rumbled away. “Okay fine,” he said at last. “Take off your clothes.”

“We’re going to play? I thought you said you had to work.”

“I do. I’m going to be nice and let you play with yourself.”

“Wha . . .?”

“And I’ll even let you come, if you can manage it.”

At least Kurt had the satisfaction of knowing he’d shocked Blaine into silence. Suspicious silence, because Blaine knew very well that it wasn’t likely Kurt was planning to reward him for his whining.

“Do as you’re told,” Kurt said. He left the comfort of his chair and went into the bedroom to rummage in their gear bag. By the time he found the items he wanted and returned to the front room Blaine was naked, still sitting on the window seat backlit by the gray, wet sky. His dick was already hard, jutting up from his lap and twitching enticingly, but Kurt ignored it. Instead he pulled Blaine’s arms behind his back and secured them with fur-lined handcuffs.

“I thought you said I was going to play with myself,” Blaine said as Kurt bound him.

“You are.”

“Um . . . how?”

“God you’re impatient!” Kurt said. “Hold still.” He held their tiny bullet vibe to the sensitive spot just under the head of Blaine’s cock and strapped it tight around his shaft. Then he picked up the little remote and flicked it on. Blaine hummed as the vibe came to life, but Kurt flicked it off again before he could get much pleasure out of it.

“Here’s the game,” Kurt said as he tucked the remote into one of Blaine’s bound hands. “Every time the lightning flashes, you turn it on. But you have to turn it off when the thunder ends. And if you manage to get yourself off, well,” he shrugged, “consider it a freebie.”

Kurt watched as Blaine processed, watched him slowly realize that this was a game he was unlikely to win. If the storm got worse, his times on the vibe would be more frequent, but shorter. If it faded the lightning would become less frequent but the delay between lightning and thunder - and his time with the vibe running - would stretch out longer.  The randomness of it, the illusion of control where he had none, was exactly the kind of game Blaine loved.

“You’re so evil,” Blaine said, but his eyes were already starting to soften and lose their anxious glint. “I love you.”

Lightning lit the room yet again. “Better get on that,” Kurt advised, nodding toward Blaine’s cock.

The remote clicked, and the vibe buzzed to life.

“Don’t forget to turn it off when the thunder ends,” Kurt said, going back to his chair and his sketch. “If you break the rules I won’t fuck you against anything this weekend.”

Thunder rolled, peaked, faded, and Blaine clicked the vibe off with a little whine. Kurt smiled at the perfect drape of the shawl sleeve on his pad and flipped to a blank page. Two sketches to go.


	19. Sign

“Please . . . I can’t take any more,” Blaine begged breathlessly.

But even as he said it a tiny voice deep inside him whispered _yes you can_.

“Don’t be silly,” Kurt said. “I decide when you can’t take any more.”

Of course he was right. They were both right. Sometimes Blaine just needed to hear it out loud. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, grateful for its support.

Kurt gave him just enough time to step back from the precipice of orgasm, but before Blaine could even catch his breath the nimble fingers came back, tapping along Blaine’s aching cock with the delicacy of a ballerina’s pointed steps. Blaine moaned as his body again began the (shorter and shorter) trip to the brink of release. He’d lost count of how many times Kurt had coaxed him to that edge, let him contemplate the orgasm he wasn’t allowed to have, then left him to drift as far back as he could before it started all over again.

“You know when you’re back in the cage you’re going to wish we were still doing this.” Kurt’s voice teased as much as his fingers.

“I know." Honesty forced Blaine to agree. "But it’s been so long."

“Yes it has. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yes,” Blaine confessed, because his head was spinning. It was entirely possible he was drunk on the sensations Kurt tortured him with.

“Yes what?”

“Oh fuck. Yes Master.”

Kurt took his hands away at the exact right moment – it had been years since Blaine had had to warn him when he was about to come. Kurt read Blaine like a book now. His timing was perfect and he could unerringly strand Blaine a single stroke from sweet release over and over and over again. Could, and did. And had today for what felt like hours to Blaine’s pleasure-fogged brain.

“Please . . .” Blaine begged again as release once more slipped away into impossibility. His trickles of precome felt like a flood and he sobbed when Kurt circled a single fingertip, light as air, through the slick around his glans.

“Hush,” Kurt commanded. “You’re not done yet. I’ll know when you are.”

Blaine wanted to ask how, but Kurt had told him to hush so he wrapped his hands around his ankles and held on tight as the ascent began again. This time Kurt’s fingers stroked instead of tapping and oh, it was gorgeous. He wanted Kurt to stroke him forever. He wanted Kurt to stroke him until he exploded. He wanted Kurt to torture him just like this for days, weeks. He had no idea what he wanted. Which was why he needed Kurt to decide for him.

“Thank you, Master.” Blaine’s voice was high-pitched and breathy from effort.

Like a reward, Kurt closed his fist around Blaine’s swollen dick, giving him more concentrated sensation than he’d felt in hours. Blaine’s breath left his body in a _whoosh_ and tears spilled from his eyes. Pure, unbearable pleasure flooded his body. He wanted it to last forever. But mere seconds was all he could endure.

“Open your eyes Blaine.”

Of course Blaine obeyed.

Blurred by Blaine’s tears, Kurt’s hand moved up and down his shaft, so slowly, Blaine marveled. It had felt like light speed after all the teasing taps and flicks. He watched and felt the precome surge, watched and felt his balls draw up tight for the millionth time, so ready to shoot, watched as Kurt pushed him right to that edge again, to where Blaine’s throat closed tight and his body tensed for the orgasmic explosion. He watched as Kurt gave him that very last possible stroke.

“Don’t come, Blaine,” Kurt ordered, and went just one stroke further.

It was impossible. He couldn’t do it. He’d passed the point of no return, his boiling pleasure had tipped too far and nothing, not a thing on earth could stop it from erupting finally into the release Blaine’s body craved. There was no way to obey.

And yet Blaine did. His fingers around his ankles pressed tendon to bone. His tears fell heavy and free because it hurt, it was agony to try to force his orgasm back but he forced it anyway. It didn’t matter what it cost him, he refused to give his master anything less than his very best effort.

“That’s right, boy. Control it for me.” Kurt’s voice was tight with arousal.

Blaine growled with effort and for one moment he thought he’d lost, pleasure twisted inside his balls, but he held on with everything he had. As he watched, a fat, white drop swelled from his slit, and he could let go now, he thought, but a ruined orgasm was still an orgasm and his master had said . . .

“Don’t you dare.”

He didn’t. Somewhere he found one last reserve of strength. He wrestled his own body into submission, as ruthlessly as Kurt expected him to.

And then in a moment it was over. Blaine’s throat opened and his eyes closed as the orgasm finally gave up its grip on his balls and grudgingly retreated to a safer distance. When he opened his eyes again Blaine found that the single drop of semen had escaped his slit and rolled down his cockhead, leaving a white smear down his trembling cock.

“That’s the sign I was waiting for,” Kurt said. He bent forward, tongue out, and licked up the tiny trail.

“Oh, God, please,” Blaine moaned.

“Now you can’t take any more.”


	20. Tacky

“Honey, I’m home!” Kurt sang out. The apartment door swung closed behind him and its thump was echoed by another, muffled, from the bedroom.

“Blaine?”

“Don’t come in here!”

Kurt took a quick mental inventory. It wasn’t his birthday or an anniversary he’d missed, and besides, Blaine’s warning sounded much more I-don’t-want-you-to-see-what-I’ve-done than I’m-trying-to-surprise-you.

“What’s going on?”

From the bedroom came a second thump, a frustrated groan, a third thump, much louder, then a deep sigh and a quiet, defeated, “Help.”

Blaine didn’t sound panicked, so Kurt didn’t rush. He figured he’d better prepare himself for whatever he found when he crossed the threshold.

What he found was a very large tangle of duct tape on the floor next to the bed. “Help,” the tangle said again.

“Blaine!” Kurt hurried to kneel at Blaine’s side. His head twisted and golden eyes stared up from the mess, looking much more resigned than upset. “What . . .” Kurt waved his hands over Blaine like he could make it all disappear by magic, “. . . happened?”

Blaine was naked. Black tape wrapped his ankles together, and more tape circled one wrist and cinched it in a hog-tie to his legs. His other wrist had gotten stuck halfway to his ankles – it was attached tight to the opposite thigh, which pulled that arm across the other. Kurt could see the skin and hair on Blaine’s leg pull as he struggled. More tape decorated various areas of Blaine’s body – previous failed attempts to catch that errant wrist, Kurt figured. It stuck in his chest hair, across his ass, there was even a long strip hanging down from the back of his head, twisted in his dark curls. Loose ends flapped like blind hands, reaching out to tangle Kurt as well.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Blaine said.

“You succeeded.”

Blaine groaned and tried again to pull his arm free. “This isn’t what I meant.”

“Scissors?” Kurt asked.

Blaine sighed and stopped trying to escape. “On the dresser.”

Kurt fetched the scissors and started cutting. He freed Blaine’s legs and wrist and snipped carefully at the tape that held his other wrist to his thigh. Blaine’s feet thumped to the floor and he rolled over onto his back, "staring up at Kurt and flexing his cramped arms. Kurt pulled experimentally at the remnant still stuck to Blaine’s thigh.

“Ow! Don’t!”

“Oh my God, Blaine, what were you thinking?”

“I found a video on YouTube. It looked really easy.”

“To completely entangle yourself in tape?”

"Very funny," Blaine said. It was how to hogtie yourself. I wanted you to come home and find me and . . . you know.”

“Spend hours trying to peel duct tape off your body without hurting you?” Kurt tugged at the piece again, gentler this time, but Blaine squirmed away.

“No! I wanted you to fuck me, obviously.”

“So where did you go wrong?”

Blaine grimaced. “The video used rope. But tape’s so much rougher than our soft rope. I thought it’d be sexier.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Kurt pulled at the tape hanging from Blaine’s hair – not hard, just enough to make him twist his head around to avoid the pain.

“Don't joke. I already feel like an idiot. Do you think if I soak in the tub it might come off easier? With the water?”

Kurt tugged at the tape again. It was almost like pulling on reins. Like Blaine was his own little curly-haired pony. And he wouldn't be the dominant he was if that didn't give him . . . ideas. He pulled harder, sharp, like a correction.

“Ow! What –?”

“Roll over.”

There must have been something in Kurt’s voice or his face that Blaine recognized, because he obeyed immediately.

Now when Kurt pulled at the tape it forced Blaine to lift his head up from the floor, stretching his neck long and pulling tendons tight.

“Ahhh . . .” Blaine cried again, but this time there wasn’t any protest in it. And his moan when Kurt straddled his legs was pure desire.

“You did want to get fucked, didn’t you?”

“Yes, please,” Blaine breathed.

Kurt tugged at the tape a third time. “And you know, you’ve had a hard day. So I’m going to let you come.”

Blaine wasn't expecting that. “Oh _God,_ yes please.”

Kurt grinned. “And I’ll even let you choose which piece of tape I pull off when you do.”


	21. Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is way too freaking long for an Advent ficlet but it's been a long time and I guess since I'm the writer I can do as I please! ;)

Blaine pushed his chair back from the table and surveyed the remains of their cheese course. He reached for his wine glass, inhaling the scent of soft Sauternes while smiling at his soulmate, whose fair skin glowed in the flickering lantern-light. He sighed. Everything was perfect.

"How much longer am I going to be forced to endure this?"

Almost perfect.

"Kurt -"

"It's like you don't know me at all. I'm still trying to figure out what could possibly have led you to believe that I would enjoy anything about this."

"But . . . cheese . . . wine . . ."

"Camping, Blaine. Camping."

"Glamping," Blaine corrected.

"Shoving two words together doesn't make them any less of an oxymoron."

"You just ate a dinner of foie gras and lobster cooked by a professional chef -"

"On a _barbecue grill_ -"

"- and later you're going to sleep on a feather bed - with me - in a tent," Blaine air-quoted _tent_ with his empty hand as he rolled his eyes at the canvas walls around them, "that a medieval prince would envy. You're hardly roughing it."

Kurt sniffed into his Sauternes. "I'm not a medieval prince. I live in the era of indoor plumbing."

"You're _my_ prince," Blaine said, ignoring the other part.

"Flattery will get you nowhere when I'm expected to pee in an outhouse."

Blaine sighed again. "It's not an outhouse."

"Port-a-potty then. Like that's any better."

"A very nice port-a-potty. They kind they use on movie sets. For actors. Liam Hemsworth might have peed in that very one."

"Somehow I doubt that."

Blaine put his wine down and reached across the table to take Kurt's hand. "You agreed to come. Could you please at least try not to be miserable? For me?"

Kurt tried to frown but his lips went twisty in the way that Blaine knew meant his heart wasn't totally in it. "Tell me what we can do here that we can't do at a nice five-star hotel somewhere."

Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand. "I'll do better than that. I'll show you."

Kurt pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair, lifting an expectant eyebrow.

"We have to go outside," Blaine said.

"In the dark? With the bugs?"

"Kurt!" But Blaine didn't really have the heart to be upset. Not tonight. He'd been planning this forever and it was taking all his self-control not to bounce like a sugared-up toddler. "I'll bring the wine. You can bring the lantern."

"So I'm the walking _Bug Banquet Here_ sign?"

Blaine took a breath and got up from the table. He handed the bottle of Sauternes to Kurt, pausing to bend down and kiss him, quickly, just to remember that he loved this man in spite of, even because of, all his little . . . idiosyncrasies. Then he picked up the lantern and his wineglass and headed out of the tent, leaving Kurt with the choice to follow or be abandoned alone in the dark.

Kurt followed.

"Why do we have to do this out here?" Kurt asked as the tent flap closed behind them.

"You'll see."

"I'm pretty sure answers to direct questions are in our contract. I could punish you for this, you know."

Blaine smiled into the darkness as he picked his way in the lantern-light toward the little dock that jutted out into the lake. "I hope you will."

Behind him Kurt huffed and Blaine’s smile widened. He couldn’t blame Kurt. He knew how much his soulmate hated to feel on the back foot, and camping – _glamping_ – in the middle of almost nowhere on a moonless night was about as far from Kurt’s comfort zone as it was possible to get. Still, he had a feeling that eventually Kurt would be happy they’d come.

When they reached the dock Blaine kicked off his shoes and sat down at the end, letting his feet dip into the water of the lake. With yet another sigh, Kurt plopped beside him, sitting cross-legged, shoes firmly on his feet. Blaine just smiled at him and put down the lantern so he could take the wine from Kurt and fill both their glasses. Then he switched the lantern off.

“Hey!” Kurt cried.

“What?”

“It’s dark.”

“I know. Drink your wine.”

“Is this what you wanted to show me? Darkness? Because we have darkness in New York.”

“No we don’t, which is the point,” Blaine said. “We just have to wait for our eyes to adjust.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

“You really are infuriating sometimes.”

Blaine pressed his lips together until he remembered that Kurt couldn’t see him smiling. “I think I’m sweet,” he said mildly, and sipped at his exquisite wine. Around them the darkness was full of sounds: crickets chirping, frogs croaking, the occasional splash of a fish in the pond. It was warm and dark and they were all alone, but Blaine refrained from pointing out that some people would have found the situation overwhelmingly romantic. Because he already knew that Kurt Hummel was not one of those people.

They sat in silence for a while, sipping wine, and when Blaine eventually took Kurt’s hand and leaned into him, Kurt leaned back and sighed a much nicer kind of sigh. Blaine dropped his head to Kurt's shoulder and listened to the night until his eyes began to make out the shapes of the trees that grew around the edge of the pond. Then he said, "Look up."

He didn’t look up himself. Even though this was why he’d painstakingly planned all this. He wanted Kurt to be first. Only after Kurt sucked in a gasp and tightened his fingers around Blaine’s did Blaine tilt his head back to see.

The night sky was perfectly clear. There was no moon. And arched above them a magical path of light split the sky, reaching from horizon to horizon against the backlight of more stars than Blaine had ever seen in his life. Blaine had dreamed of this. He’d wanted to see it since he was a little boy. His breath caught in his throat and he clutched Kurt’s hand even tighter than Kurt had clutched his.

“What is it?” Kurt whispered.

“It’s the Milky Way.”

“Like . . . our galaxy the Milky Way?”

Blaine nodded against Kurt’s shoulder.

“But aren’t we in the Milky Way?”

Blaine turned his attention away from the sky to look at Kurt. It had been pitch black before, but now Kurt's face was bathed in faint starlight. "That's the rest of it. We're sort of out in the middle of nowhere." He tilted his chin up toward the sky. "That's downtown."

Kurt continued to stare up, his mouth gaping as much as Kurt Hummel ever gaped. "Why is it cloudy?"

"It's not. Those are stars. Billions of them. Hundreds of billions. So many packed together that you can't see through the clumps."

"Clumps of stars," Kurt breathed.

"You can only see somewhere with no artificial light. When it's really dark. I've always wanted to but I've never had a chance to come to a place like this. I decided it was finally time."

"And why is now the time?" Kurt asked, because Kurt never missed anything, really, even when he was distracted by camping and bugs and gorgeous starscapes.

Blaine dragged his eyes from the stars back to Kurt's face. "It's been a long year," he started.

"Blaine -"

"And I wouldn't change any of it, you know that. I am so proud of you with the modeling and the line, and I love my job, and the new apartment. Our lives are amazing. But we've been through a lot of changes and we've had to work really hard to figure stuff out, and I felt like this would help remind me of some things."

"Such as?"

"How unimportant it all is, when you really think about it. All those stars, all that space, and here we are, just two people on a not particularly important speck in the backwater of the Milky Way. It puts things into perspective."

Blaine's eyes had adjusted enough that he could see Kurt's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "And that's good for you? Feeling unimportant? Is that a sub thing?"

Blaine laughed. "Maybe it is. I think when I feel insignificant then so do my problems."

"Problems?"

"Stresses. Challenges. Don't look like that, Kurt. Let me finish."

Kurt frowned and squeezed Blaine's hand, but he didn't speak.

"Think about it. All of that," Blaine tilted his head up toward the sky, "billions of galaxies full of stars, too many to comprehend. Infinite space and unimaginable variation and still, something, somewhere, looked at me and wrote your name on my wrist. Out of all of this we were marked for each other. Something knew - maybe since the beginning of time - that I would belong to you."

Kurt's expression shifted. He wasn't frowning anymore. Blaine thought he might be crying. He raised his gaze to the heavens and starlight sparkled in the corners of his eyes.

Blaine shifted position, and slipped a hand into his pocket. The movement drew Kurt's attention back to him.

"That's not proper kneeling posture," Kurt said with a laugh that was emotion-tight.

"I'm not kneeling," Blaine answered. "At least, not that kind of kneeling."

He'd been afraid, before, that in the dark Kurt wouldn't be able to see the rings, or that he wouldn't be able to see Kurt's reaction. But the stars were on his side and Blaine knew the look on his soulmate's face would be burned into his memory forever.

"Don't hate me," he said before Kurt could speak. "I know we're camping, and I know the dom usually proposes, and I know you're never going to forgive me for doing it this way, with the camping, although really, you know you're going to enjoy the hell out of telling this story to everyone you meet for the rest of your life -"

"Blaine." Kurt's voice was barely more than a whisper, his eyes wide as saucers.

"I just had to do it here. I feel like it all began somewhere out there - the universe, fate, and nothing else could be big enough to - I don't know, symbolize it, if that makes sense. What we mean to each other, and together, to the world. In all of that." Blaine tossed his head at the galaxy above them. "So in case you haven't figured it out, which you have of course, I mean you're not stupid -"

"Blaine."

It was louder this time, and trembly, but somehow also dominant and for a long and terrifying moment Blaine’s mind went blank except to wonder why he was kneeling in a completely wrong posture.

Then, behind Kurt, above him, one of the hundreds of billions fell from its place and streaked across the sky and it all came back.

"Will you marry me?"

Kurt took the ring box from Blaine's hand. When their fingers brushed Blaine could feel Kurt's shaking. But he set the box carefully on the dock next to the bottle of fine wine, turned slowly back to Blaine, and attacked.

Much later, as they lay in disarray on the dock, dizzy from kissing and breathless from laughing, shouted yesses, Blaine still a little in shock that it was possible for Kurt to forget himself so much that he would voluntarily lie down on old, dusty planks, _in his clothes_ , Kurt rolled onto his back and held his ringed hand up against the backdrop of infinity.

"Well you were right about two things," Kurt said to the stars burning between his fingers.

"Which two?" Blaine asked. He put his hand up next to Kurt's, reuniting their rings as their fingers clasped.

"I'm definitely never going to forgive you for doing it this way," Kurt turned his head to smile at Blaine, "but it is going to make one hell of a story."


	22. Video

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I think I used up my schmoop quotient for the year on that last chapter. Let's have some nice porn this time!

It was one of those days. One of those days when Kurt’s samples failed to arrive and he spilled coffee on a sketch he’d spent two hours detailing. When his new shoes pinched and all the trains were late, and mobbed with people, and the noise of a hundred conversations, each pitched to be heard over all the others, seemed to split his head open like Lizzie Borden on speed.

It was one of those days, he thought as he dumped his bag on the entry table and pulled the apartment door shut behind him, when he was very, very grateful to come home to Blaine, who was happy to cater to Kurt’s every whim no matter how stressful his own day had been. Submitting was Blaine’s stress relief. Kurt kicked off the beautiful, impossible shoes. He sent a silent _thank you_ to the universe for the professional-quality foot rub he was about to enjoy, and headed toward their bedroom.

“Blaine? Are you in . . .?”

Kurt pushed the door open just in time to see Blaine’s laptop snap shut. He sat up on the bed, pulling earphones out of his ears and flashing Kurt a look of pure panic.

“Honey! You’re home!”

Blaine tried to look nonchalant but all Kurt could see was guilty. Guilty and . . . something else. Kurt’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed his soulmate. Dark curls were tousled, stubbly cheeks were flushed, golden eyes burned. . .

“Oh my God. Were you watching porn?!”

“What?” Blaine shoved the laptop off to the side, away from Kurt.

“Whatever you just didn’t want me to see totally turned you on!”

Blaine’s face went even redder. “It’s been weeks since you let me come,” he protested. “Everything turns me on.”

Which wasn’t a denial.

Strictly speaking, they didn’t have any rules about watching porn. And really, Kurt didn’t even care if Blaine wanted to. But the thing inside him that had been longing for a foot rub suddenly remembered – no doubt because of the way Blaine breathed _since you let me come_ – that a little domination was an even better way to put the stress of the day behind him. Especially if it ended in an earth-shaking orgasm. Kurt was nothing if not flexible when unexpected opportunity presented itself.

He straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you were watching,” he ordered.

Blaine heard the change in Kurt’s voice at once. His tongue darted out to moisten dry lips and his eyes opened wide in mock innocence. “It was just . . . a dom.”

“Really? So one dom isn’t enough for you?”

“No, I just –”

“Did he turn you on?” Kurt sauntered to the bed and sat at the foot. He reached out and caressed Blaine’s calf, stroking up to his knee. “Did he make you hard?”

“I can’t get hard,” Blaine breathed.

“And why is that?”

“Because you locked my dick up.”

“Who locked your dick up?”

Blaine’s eyes fluttered closed. His hands twisted in the comforter as Kurt’s fingers teased higher up the inside of this thigh.

“Hmmm?” Kurt prompted.

“My master.” It was barely more than a whisper. “My master locked my dick up.”

“And why did he do that? Look at me, Blaine.”

Blaine obeyed and really, when those beautiful eyes met his Kurt couldn’t remember ever wanting anything as boring as a foot rub.

“Because I’m not allowed to get hard without permission.” Blaine shuddered as he spoke. Kurt smiled. He knew nothing turned Blaine on quite like being made to put the terms of his submission into words.

Kurt let his hand slide higher until he was cupping Blaine’s crotch. He could feel the hard steel straining against the fly of Blaine’s jeans. He toyed with the button, not quite pushing it open, until Blaine’s breathing thinned and sharpened into whimpery gasps. “So what was the point of the porn then?” he asked gently. “Locked up like this – weren’t you just torturing yourself?”

“I couldn’t help it. I needed it so much. I’m sorry. Please don’t punish me.” And Blaine was apparently well aware that nothing turned Kurt on quite like watching Blaine’s mouth beg for one thing while his eyes pleaded for the exact opposite.

“Oh, I’m not going to punish you, baby. I’m going to _help_ you. Why should you have to torture yourself when you have me here to do it for you?”

Kurt pushed the button free, hoping he looked as feral as he felt. He tugged at the zipper then parted the fly to reveal light blue briefs, spotted dark with precome where the tip of the cage rested. He rubbed his hand over the fabric until Blaine was moaning and thrusting into the pressure, then he reached inside and pulled Blaine’s chastised cock free.

Hungry red flesh filled the cage and bulged between the bars. Kurt ran a finger down it, touching only steel, and Blaine whined high and pleading.

How could Kurt have ever even imagined any other kind of stress relief?

“So what did this fantasy video dom do to you?”

There was a long pause before Blaine spoke, and when he did his voice was thin and tight. “He s-sucked me."

“Like this?” Kurt leaned down until his mouth was inches from Blaine’s trapped cock.

“He took the cage off first.”

Kurt smiled up into Blaine’s hopeful gaze. “Oh sweetie. If I did that it wouldn’t be torture, would it?”

He engulfed Blaine’s straining dick in one slide, cage and all, then pulled off again, sucking hard as he went.

“Oh, God, please . . .”

“Does it hurt?” Kurt asked.

“So much.”

“Good. I want to make your fantasy come true in every possible way.”

Kurt went to work with a vengeance, licking at Blaine’s aching flesh, teasing his tongue over every millimeter it could reach, sucking bits of skin hard between the bars, while Blaine writhed, moaned, cried more than a few tears, and finally outright begged.

“Please . . . I can’t . . . oh God it hurts, please no more, Master, forgive me . . . please . . .”

Kurt let him beg until his breath started hitching between words – a sign that the sensation actually really was becoming too much for Blaine to stand. Then he let Blaine’s cock fall against his jeans and climbed further up the bed, straddling Blaine’s chest.

“Now what was better?” he teased. “Fantasy video dom, or me? Be honest.”

Blaine opened beautifully wrecked eyes and stared at him. “It was never a contest,” he panted. “It’s always you.”

“Good,” Kurt said as he pulled his own fly open. “You can thank me with your tongue.”

*     *     *     *     *

After Kurt came, immediately after, before Blaine had a chance to recover enough to stop him, Kurt reached for the laptop and flipped it open.

“No, Kurt! Don’t . . .”

But Kurt did. And he stared at the screen in disbelief.

“This is . . . the Pieta web site. My promo video . . .” He looked up. “You were getting hot watching my video?”

Blaine gave Kurt a little, guilty smile. “Well, you weren’t here in person and I was really horny . . .”

“So your fantasy dom is . . . me?”

“Fantasy . . . reality . . . it’s all the same now for me.”

Kurt put the laptop aside and spread his hands on Blaine’s chest, thumbing at his nipples. “That’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever said to me.”

Blaine smiled. “You can thank me with your tongue.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Kurt threatened, then slid back down the bed for a little more much-needed stress relief.


	23. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's is short, kids, because my own kid was having a homework crisis so I had to be concise. This'll make up for the past two long ones!

“I’m getting too old for these New England winters.”

Kurt looked up from his reader and squinted at Blaine. “That’s ridiculous. And even if you were too old, which you aren’t, hello Twenty-first Century. We have perfect climate control.”

Blaine hefted a new log onto their fire. “We have to go outside sometime. If only to get more wood.”

“Climate control, Blaine,” Kurt repeated. “This whole fire thing is really completely environmentally irresponsible.”

“Gee, and I thought it was romantic. I’ll put it out then.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Blaine grinned at Kurt, but his grin turned into a grimace as he pushed himself up from the floor.

Kurt held out his hand. Blaine took it and allowed Kurt to steer him down onto the couch, where he pulled him close. “That _don’t you dare_ included having trouble getting up from the floor.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my knees that my master doesn’t want them to creak.”

“That’s my obedient boy.” Kurt abandoned his reader and devoted both hands to cradling Blaine. He pressed a kiss to the gray curls. “I was serious though. No complaining about age. You’re only as old as I say you are.”

Blaine laughed. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

“You weren’t, clearly,” Kurt sniffed. “But that’s okay. You’re definitely not too old for me to take a wooden spoon to your ass if you forget again.”

Blaine craned his neck back and leered at Kurt. “You could do that anyhow. It’s been a while since you took something to my ass. My ass misses it.”

Kurt stared past Blaine at the snow flurrying outside the window and considered. It had been a while since they’d done any kind of impact play. And although Blaine’s ass wasn’t as shapely as it once had been, it still looked beautiful all reddened from a spanking. But then, it was a bit cold even in their climate control. And the crackle of the fire was starting to make him drowsy. And, if he was being honest, his own knees had been creaky all morning.

“Or,” Blaine said, and when Kurt looked at him his smile was soft and warm, “we could just take a nap here on the couch.”

Kurt wrapped his arms tighter around his soulmate. “Hmmm. Perfect sub. I promise I’ll beat your ass tomorrow.”

Blaine burrowed his face in Kurt’s neck, settling in for the long haul. “Whatever you say, Master.”


End file.
